Practice Makes Perfect
by Team Damon
Summary: Hope was a tricky thing. As prone to it as he was, this century was slowly destroying his ability to believe in it. An unexpected visitor, the one that he wasn't hoping for, might end up having a hand in changing that. Steve/Natasha, companion piece/prequel to Life After Death. Two-shot, complete.
1. He May Be Old, But He's Not Dead

**A/N: I forgot to mention this in my update for LAD this week, but! I have an extra little bonus two-parter prequel-ish type thing this week! Sort of. This came about because a couple reviewers asked for more Steve/Natasha stuff in that story, but since it's not the most popular ship and some of the other readers have said they dislike them and/or ignore their stuff, I kind of keep their relationship somewhat on the sidelines, which I don't mind since they aren't the main couple anyway. BUT, I do love them together despite the fact that they're never gonna happen in the MCU, so I thought I'd write a thing about how I imagine they got together in my own little made up fic universe lol. This is part one and it's set around the end of Breath of Life, specifically before Steve had found Bucky. I'll post the next part in a few days :) Let me know what you guys think****, and do keep an eye out for the second part of this, because the, er, good stuff is in that part. Lol :D And a big thank you to midnightwings96 for her as-always fabulous help, and for helping me name the two parts of this story AND the title lol. The titles here are all her. The one for part two is the best though :) See you all in a few days!**

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**He May Be Old, But He's Not Dead**

By now, Steve was pretty sure that he was used to people he worked with showing up injured in his apartment while he was gone. But while this time had been much less violent than when it had been Fury lurking bloodied in a corner, it was also a lot more bittersweet because he had been hoping for someone else entirely than who he got.

He had been looking for Bucky for a month now, and the trail had gone cold after just the first week. He had come here to New York on a lead, fueled by the hopes that their shared hometown of Brooklyn had led Bucky back here, but the search had led nowhere. It had been week after discouraging week where he could think of little else other than finding his friend, and when he came home to his new apartment to see the light on through the window outside, it had filled him with a hope that maybe, just maybe, Bucky had found him first.

And so, leaving his motorcycle unsecured in his haste to get off of it and tear his way to his own front door, Steve ran up the two flights of stairs and all but burst inside his apartment, only to look inside the kitchen and feel his face immediately fall in utter disappointment.

"Well. You could look a _little_ happier to see me," Natasha said wryly, helping herself to the meager contents of his fridge and giving him a slightly amused look.

"Natasha," he said, trying to wipe the disappointment from his face as he closed the door behind him. "Sorry. I thought you might have been..."

"I figured," she replied quietly, eyes understanding. "Sorry about that. But I didn't have time to call first."

"Something happen?" he asked, watching her take a bite of an apple before she started to pull down the zipper of her gray hoodie.

"You could say that," she said, sliding the hoodie off one shoulder and turning to show him a haphazardly bandaged wound on the back of her right shoulder. Steve's brows furrowed and his mouth dropped open a little as he quickly stepped forward to get a better look at the wound.

"What happened? Is this a stab wound?" he asked, not wanting to touch it but also unable to take his eyes off of it. It was decent sized, but he couldn't see how bad it was under the gauze she must have blindly fixed over it.

"Well," she sighed, pulling up the hoodie back over her shoulder with her other hand and turning towards him, "you know what I said about blowing all my covers. We both know what comes after."

He nodded. "Who was it?"

"Someone with French intelligence," she replied, and Steve's confusion grew.

"French? What did SHIELD ever do to them?"

She smiled a bit sadly. "Nothing."

And then he understood, and he didn't need any further explanations. Whatever she was before, it didn't matter to him now. Really, it never had, but the mess in D.C. had made it even less relevant to him now. "Well, let's have a look at that wound and clean it up."

"Bathroom?" she asked after taking another bite of the apple, remarkably unfazed by whatever pain she had to have been feeling.

"Well..." he thought for a moment. "The lighting in the bathroom here is terrible. The best lighting is actually in my room."

He should have expected the little grin that tugged at her lips. "Well, if you want to invite a girl to your room, Rogers, just say so - you don't have to make up something about the lighting."

He rolled his eyes, knowing she was only teasing, of course. "Very funny. Follow me."

His bedroom was as bare as the rest of the place, most of which just contained boxes that he hadn't bothered to unpack. He was prepared to follow Bucky's trail wherever it led him, and since he was finding nothing here, he figured he would be moving on somewhere else soon. This time he would place the majority of his things in storage and just keep the necessities with him as he traipsed the country, but he would be lying if he pretended to not be disappointed by how badly the search was going.

The even more stark disappointment of finding Natasha in his kitchen instead of Bucky had begun to wane as he left her perched on the edge of the small bed to go grab his first aid supplies. Now he just felt stupid for even have letting himself hope for that, since it had become clear that Bucky didn't want to be found and thus showing up here was just about the most unlikely scenario possible.

Hope was a tricky thing. As prone to it as he was, this century was slowly destroying his ability to believe in it.

But he brushed those thoughts aside and put on a pointless smile as he walked back into his room, finding Natasha where he had left her, minus her hoodie. She had on a familiar black tank top underneath it, and she still wasn't showing a single sign of her injury bothering her. He sat down behind her, spreading out his supplies and then looking up in slight surprise as she slid the right strap of her top down and then pulled her arm free of it.

It was only practical, of course. The strap would have gotten in his way. But when his eyes lingered a little too long on the curve of her bare shoulder, she glanced back at him, and he quickly looked down, focusing back on the task at hand.

He wasn't gonna go down that road. He had done a very good job of steering clear of it at every turn, and it was going to stay that way.

He was peeling off her old gauze when he asked, "So why did you come here?"

"Well, Clint was a farther drive," she replied, and Steve chuckled.

"Ah. I see how it is."

"I didn't mean it like that," she replied teasingly. "I just... don't like involving you if I don't have to."

"... Should I be flattered or offended?" he asked, now able to get a better look at the wound. It wasn't terribly deep, and it didn't look infected, so that was good.

"Neither," she answered, hissing a little as he began to gently clean the wound. "I just try to leave as little collateral damage as I can these days."

"So it's about protecting me," he surmised.

"In a manner of speaking."

His lips quirked slightly. She was interesting, Natasha. His perception of her was ever-evolving and had been since the day that he met her, but one thing that he could say without a trace of humor or doubt was that he really did trust her. And he trusted so very few people that he had met within this decade.

"I noticed that this place has a second bedroom."

"Interested in sharing the rent?" he quipped, wincing slightly for her when she hissed as he cleaned the worst part of the wound.

"We both know who that room is for," Nat replied. "I take it your search isn't going very well."

"He's good at disappearing," Steve sighed. "But at least that means they won't find him."

She didn't need to ask who "they" were. HYDRA, the FBI, CIA, they all wanted to find the escaped "asset", and all for different reasons. But, as much as Steve despised waking up every day having no idea where Bucky was, if he was okay, or hungry, or lost, it was better than the thought of him rotting in some federal prison over crimes that he had not committed of his own free will. But being the lesser of two evils didn't make it any easier.

"It might be a long time until he lets you find him," Natasha warned quietly. "If he really recognized you like you said he did -"

"He did," Steve insisted. "I know he pulled me out of the water. I know it was him. And I saw his face before I fell. He knew me."

"Okay," Nat replied, not arguing the point. "But that might make him avoid you most of all."

Steve frowned, going on with his work and not wanting to believe her. But he knew that she was probably right.

"You don't have much food here," she said next, seemingly off topic.

"... Sorry," he said. "Haven't had much time to shop."

"Or time to sleep, judging by the state of your eyes."

Patting her wound dry, he raised an eyebrows and replied, "You sound concerned."

She glanced behind her shoulder to him and rolled her eyes slightly. "Somebody has to be, because you sure the hell aren't."

"I've got bigger things to worry about," he muttered, reaching for a large bandage.

They were silent for a moment, and then Natasha asked thoughtfully, "So who patches you up when you need it?"

He tried not to sigh, but it was like she was trying to say everything she could to point out the sad state of... well, everything. Eating and sleeping aside, the question of who would do this for him if he needed it was an extra pang of both old and new pain in his heart. Two people came to mind, and neither of them could remember him much, and one had nearly beat him to death less than a month ago.

"Done," he said, and as he tossed the trash into a small can that he had brought in for that very purpose, Natasha turned around a bit but didn't fix her strap quite yet.

"Steve."

He looked up at her, eyes going again to her bare shoulder, now that he was seeing the front view, but only for a fraction of a second before he looked up at her eyes. "Yeah?"

"You're still a terrible liar."

He almost laughed, but not quite. "I'm deflecting, not lying."

"Then you're terrible at that, too."

He smiled in response to the tiny one she was giving him. "Kinda feels like I'm terrible at a lot of things these days."

He didn't like admitting that, especially when to the average person, he had nothing but successes to boast of. He helped win _the_ war, helped fight off the invasion of New York, and had taken down HYDRA against the odds very recently. And yet, it all seemed to be somehow pointless in the end, because the good side never stayed on top for long. In HYDRA's case, good had really never been in control at all. He hoped that would change now, but would it? He'd keep fighting, but would it really make a difference in the end?

"Has anyone told you how dramatic you can be?"

His eyes snapped to hers in surprise before turning warmer and yet also sad, for reasons he wouldn't explain to her. "Yeah. Someone's told me that before."

"Well... next time you're feeling down on yourself," she said, finally starting to slowly bring the strap back over her arm, "just Google my name. It'll make you feel better about your choices in no time."

He shook his head. "I wouldn't do that."

"But I'm sure you've read the files," she said. Her expression became a bit shocked when he shook his head again.

"Nope."

She stared at him. "Why not?"

"Because," he said quietly, "none of that matters to me. I know you've done terrible things in the past. I also know that whatever you were then, it's not who you are now. And _that's_ what matters to me."

She continued to stare at him before shaking her head and saying, "That sounds nice, Steve, but nobody ever really means that. Even you can't really mean that."

"I do," he said sincerely. "Besides, you'd know if I was lying, since I'm so terrible at it."

She smiled a little, but he could tell that something was bothering her, something big enough to be a literal weight on her shoulders. She stared out at nothing for a moment before saying in a tone that was almost wistful, "It was easier to forget it all when only a few people knew. Just pretend that it was all... some different life that was never actually real." She glanced back to Steve and smiled with a shrug. "Now I relive it every time I see a newspaper or overhear people on the street. Not so easy pretending to be a hero anymore."

"Nat," he said quietly, looking at her in a way that was so earnest he could see how off-guard it caught her. He leaned in slightly and said, "The reason why you're reliving it, the reason why the whole world knows what you did, is because you were brave enough to leak those files. You knew that everyone would know, you knew what they would think of you. And you did it anyway. You sacrificed for the greater good. That makes you a hero. And a damn good one, as far as I'm concerned."

She didn't smile in her wry little way, nor did she shrug him off or dismiss him. Instead, she looked at him in a way that he wasn't sure she had before, and she said in a quiet, non-deceptive tone, "When you say that, I can almost let myself believe it."

"Good," he said with a small smile. "Then I'll keep saying it until it sinks in."

She smiled back, and he watched her gaze drop from his eyes briefly before she said, "You know, Steve, someday you're gonna make a lucky girl somewhere very happy."

He scoffed. He couldn't help it. It was his automatic knee-jerk response to such remarks. "Now you're _really_ talking crazy."

"Oh come on," she teased. "One day you'll meet the right one and prove me right." Then she paused and added, "You're one of the few men I know who actually deserves to be happy."

But that was just it, Steve wanted to say. The ones who deserve happiness always seemed to be the ones that never got it. But he kept that thought to himself, and instead he said, "Well.., the problem with that is, even if I found a girl, bringing her into all of this," he gestured vaguely to the general air surrounding him, "would put her in danger."

"So find a durable one," she shrugged. "Women aren't helpless, you know, especially not these days. Just find one who can defend herself and knows her way around a gun."

He nodded. "And who isn't put off by a sixty year age difference."

She shrugged, mirroring his slight grin. "I'm pretty sure that your physique would make up for any weirdness the girl might feel."

He chuckled and then asked, "Why does it always come back to this? I was in the middle of convincing you that you're a hero and yet you managed to turn it into _this_."

She smiled and then replied, "I don't know. I guess it's like I said. I'd like to see you happy."

"Who says I'm not happy?" She gave him a very pointed look, and he immediately abandoned trying to argue that particular point. "All right, all right. But still. I don't think a date will fix my problems."

She raised an eyebrow. "Depends on how good the date is. Although, I don't know about your chances of having a really good one if you haven't been _practicing_..."

"Oh, not this again," he laughed, leaning back slightly.

"I'm serious!" she replied. "Look, you obviously need _some_ kind of distraction every once in awhile. Dates are a good, fun place to start."

"That means I would be 'practicing' on the job," he pointed out, and her eyes dropped to his lips for the briefest moment before she grinned.

"Well, I can help you there."

He gave her a look, one that questioned whether she was actually serious or if she was just messing with him.

"Just take it as a friendly gesture," she shrugged. "Didn't you ever practice how to kiss with a friend, growing up?"

"You know," he sighed, "oddly enough, me and Bucky never decided to practice kissing on each other."

She chuckled. "Well, since you were nice enough to open your home to me - "

"You broke in," he pointed out.

" - And patched up my shoulder, consider this my repayment."

She leaned forward slightly, and Steve merely gave her a look and said, "Natasha..."

"What?" she asked. "Do you not want to kiss me again?"

"No - yes, I mean, yeah," he fumbled over his words, closing his eyes briefly and cringing over the fact that even today, after all this time, he _still_ acted like this, even when a woman was just platonically offering help in sharpening up his kissing skills. He tried to recover by shrugging, "Who _wouldn't_ want to kiss you?"

She smirked slightly and then nodded, "So do it. And when you get a date, she can thank me later."

He sighed. "Nat..."

"Oh, come on."

"I really don't think -"

"Steve."

"What?"

No sooner was the word out of his mouth that her lips descended upon it, muffling a noise of surprise as she kissed him for the second time in less than a month. Her hands were on either side of his face and his were hovering stupidly in midair, unsure of what to do with them. The kiss felt a lot like the one she had given him on the mall escalator, close-mouthed and sudden and not at all unpleasant, just unexpected and more than enough to make his brain momentarily crash and then reboot.

He expected it to end the same way that other one had, just as quickly as it began and then that would be it. Instead, he felt her lips soften against his, and then it was no mere stationary kiss. Her lips moved against his, much more softly and slowly, almost teasingly, and his hands ended up on her sides, just above her waist. When she pulled away, he opened his eyes and realized that he hadn't even kissed her back.

She smirked, her face still close to his as she said, "I'd ask if you're always this shy or only like this with me, but I already know the answer."

And she was right. It suddenly hit him that he had never once truly, properly kissed a woman himself. It had always been him being kissed, even on the handful of dates he had forced himself to go on over the last two years.

Now he could see a silent dare in her eyes, something sparkling in the green depths that made his jaw clench and bravery break through the surface of lifelong anxiety.

He may never have quite learned how to talk to a woman, even now, and he wouldn't deny that. But dammit, he could kiss one, and he was going to prove it.

So he did.

One hand dropping lower to her waist while the other shot up to the side of her face, he leaned in this time and kissed her himself for the first time. Her lips immediately welcomed his, and she purposefully allowed him to control it, surely wanting to see what he would do and how good at it he was. He wasn't overly concerned about skill - he just wanted to prove a point. And when her soft, better-than-he-remembered lips parted, inviting him to deepen the kiss, he slid his tongue in her mouth in a moment of bravery. Her fingers slid to the back of his neck, pulling him in deeper, and he angled her head so that he could _really_ taste her. And she seemed to like that, because then she was kissing back in a way that made his head spin.

There were many things that he didn't know, but in that moment, one thing he was pretty sure of was that platonic practice kissing wasn't supposed to feel like _this_.

She broke the kiss first, coming up for air and opening her eyes to look at him with a pleased curl of her lips. "There you go. I knew you had it in you, Cap."

And that was the moment he realized how much he liked the rasp in her voice. In fact, it suddenly sounded like the sexiest thing he'd heard all year.

He kissed her again, and this time it was her turn to be surprised. For the moment, he didn't care if it was still "practice", or if it was platonic or something else, because from the moment Natasha had stepped into his apartment, she had been shining a giant spotlight on things that he had been trying his best to keep hidden in the dark. Things like his increasingly dim view of the world and the people in it, his shrinking faith in _anything_, and perhaps above all, his loneliness.

If kissing her for just a few more moments made all of that go away for just a short amount of time, surely she wouldn't begrudge him that, right?

Far from it, once she got over her initial surprise that he was _really_ kissing her now, he felt her nails scrape over the hair at the nape of his neck as her body moved closer to his. When her hands covered his, he broke away for a breath of air and then felt his heart quicken as he watched her take his hands and move them from her waist to her hips. Her eyes then caught his and she said, "Don't be shy with your hands when you kiss."

He gulped down his answer, nodding instead before she placed a hand on the back of his head and guided him down, saying, "Kiss my neck."

He decided then to never, ever tell her that hers was the first that he had ever kissed.

He started out slowly, softly, quickly realizing it was too soft and kissing more firmly as he trailed down the column of her neck. She hummed a little when he reached a certain spot, so he stayed there for a moment, and as he played with different kinds of pressure and got a real noise from her when his tongue flicked against it, he fought the desires growing within him and let one of his hands move slowly up her back, staying over her clothes. This was so wildly different from how he thought he would spending his night, he could still barely process that any of it was real.

"Good?" he asked quietly after his lips reached her jaw, and he pulled away slightly and watched her nod to him. Her eyes moved from his own down to his lips, then back again, and he wondered what she was thinking, if maybe she was about to snap back to her senses and leave.

He didn't wait long enough to find out. Instead, he kissed her again, and was pretty sure that he felt her chuckle a little bit in response.

She was nothing if not a generous teacher. There was a distinct precision to how she kissed, how she would kiss back and then tease a little before letting him have control for a moment, but he didn't really register any of this because he hadn't expected to enjoy it as much as he was. He took her advice about his hands and moved one up and down her back, careful to avoid her wound, and the other was still wrapped around her hip. He had the feeling that maybe he was supposed to do more, but a lifetime of being on his best and most respectful behavior left his hands remaining in only the safest of places.

He didn't want to stop the next time she came up for air, so he moved back to her neck, going back to the same spot that she had seemed to like the most before. She let him kiss there for a little bit before her hands gently drew him away, and when his eyes met hers, she told him in that low, sort of raspy way that he was liking more and more, "I don't know about other girls, but I'll show you what I like."

Then she kissed him just under his jaw, at the top of his neck, and as she slowly moved down, he couldn't help but close his eyes and let his head fall back slightly. She was less gentle than he had been and he wasn't complaining, not just because she was giving him another first experience of his life, but also because everything she did, every touch of her mouth and pull of her lips and hot touch of her tongue made him feel _things_. Things he had been entirely unprepared to deal with, though passing the time like this definitely beat being alone and reading through Bucky's file for the hundredth time.

She had managed to find his own spot on his neck that drew the heaviest pants from him, and he wasn't aware of how his hand had curled into a fist, gripping the bottom of the back of her tank top in a ball in his hand. Just when she had suckled almost hard enough to hard to hurt for a moment, she slowly drew away, and he almost asked her not to stop. Instead, he just stared at her, unable to speak and breathing in short pants as she looked him over. He knew he was probably a mess and, if the burning in his cheeks and ears were any indication, more than a little flushed.

All she did was grin slightly and then kiss him one more time, a lot more softly and innocently. After, she said, "I think that's enough practice for one night. Don't want to get you too excited."

He laughed and it was a breathy, exasperated sound. If she really thought she hadn't crossed that line at the start of this, then maybe she was the one who needed a lesson in how these things worked. But she didn't, he knew that, and she was already moving away from him, starting to stand up from the bed.

And he was just beside himself.

After having slipped her hoodie back on and zipped it up, she turned and looked at him, still sitting there on the bed and not moving, looking dazed and slightly confused, vaguely watching her. "I'll see you around, Steve."

... She was leaving already?

He almost shot off the bed to follow her towards his open bedroom door, but then he thought better of standing up at all at the current moment. Instead, he stayed sitting where his arms could partially cover his lap - as if it mattered, since he had no doubt that she knew full well what she had done to him - and said, "Wait."

She turned, looking at him expectantly. He shrugged slightly and said, "Why not stay here tonight?"

"Remember what I said about collateral damage?" she replied.

"I think I can handle it," he said with a small smile. "And you're safer here than you would be wherever you'd be going. I'll take the couch."

She sighed. "Steve..."

"I insist," he said. "Not taking no for an answer."

She smiled faintly, and he knew that she would give in. "Fine." Then she gave him a look and turned to head out the door, calling over her shoulder, "Let me know when you're able to stand up again."

He thought that he should have embarrassed. Instead, he just grinned and chuckled to himself.

In a few moments, he got up and went about grabbing a blanket and pillow for himself to put on the couch, then found her in the living room and told her that she could go on to bed if she wanted. She nodded, though not before glancing at his neck and seemingly appearing quite pleased with herself over something. He looked at her questioningly, but she merely turned and began heading for his room.

"I mean it though," she said, looking behind her as she neared the hallway. "I expect your future girlfriend to know who to thank down the road for your kissing skills."

He blamed his still-dazed brain and lingering fuzzy feelings for what he said next. "And what if I decide to ask you out instead?"

He found a bit of satisfaction and how she stopped mid-stride, turning and looking genuinely surprised for all of a few seconds before her usual cool, aloof expression returned. She leaned slightly against the hallway entrance and replied, "I'd probably say no."

"Too shy or too scared?" he asked with a grin, throwing one of her own questions back at her.

"Neither," she grinned back. Then her expression sobered slightly before she added, "But I think I've done enough damage in my life. Trying not to cause anymore if I can help it."

And there she was, protecting him again. He kind of wished that she wouldn't.

But before he could protest or argue or accept what she said, she said "Goodnight, Steve," and turned and walked away.

He sighed and sat down on the couch he would be sleeping on that night and wished that he would have kept his mouth shut. But now there were thoughts in his head that had never been there before that night, and he had the feeling they wouldn't be leaving him anytime soon.

She was gone before he woke up the next morning. That didn't surprise him. What did surprise him was when he noticed what she had been smirking about when he had looked at his neck the night before - a fairly large, impressive mark on the left side of his neck, where she had been paying the most attention to. He couldn't help but grin, wondering if she had done it on purpose and then quickly reminding himself that everything she ever did was _always_ on purpose.

He had a feeling that she would come back around. Maybe not that day or the next, but one of these days, she would come back.

And he was right.

Then, the next morning, when he got a call from Tony Stark telling him about some girl from Virginia who had called Pepper to get a message to Steve about Bucky, who the girl claimed was living in her house, Steve almost tripped and fell down the stairs in his haste to get out and rush to grab Sam and head straight there.

Hope was indeed a tricky thing. It also had a way of renewing his faith in it every time he got close to letting go.


	2. The Deflowering of Steve Rogers

**In light of the few _lovely_ anon reviews the first part of this story received, I've decided that one of them was offensive (not to mention laden with ignorance) enough to warrant me publicly addressing them, despite how much I despise giving attention to "reviewers" who feel the need to read stories about pairings they dislike and then proceed to make sure _everybody_ knows it. The first review, being mostly about how badly I suck and how I "ruined the pairing &amp; fandom" and how Steve is OOC, isn't something I have a lot to say to. I don't have the power or influence to ruin a fandom or pairing, LOL, and as far as the other remarks, like my supposed lack of research into Marvel comics and how I've inserted actors into stories (?), all I can say is I have nothing to prove to anyone regarding my being "a real fan". Also, I have not put any actors into my stories. I have mentioned actors' _names_ in stories, like when an angry rooster was nicknamed Matt Damon and how one of my OCs has a longstanding crush on Tom Hiddleston, which is not against the rules. The MCU is based in the real world (New York, in this instance). This isn't Middle Earth, so, yes, _real _people can be offhandedly mentioned. Sheesh. But on to the main point, which is the second review, and how genuinely offensive it is. In case anyone missed it:**

**"I don't see how sticking Steve with the Russian whore (Natasha whore herself with dozens, if not hundreds of men, when she worked for the Red Room. No matter if it was for her "work," she still did it. Goodness knows how many STDs she's had. She might even have HIV,) can ever be a good idea. Steve deserves a woman much, much better than that. I think Stevetasha competely disrespects and even degrades Steve."**

**As much as I believe in not feeding the trolls, I cannot NOT say something when somebody says something as offensive as this about a character I love. I don't care if someone dislikes my writing or says I ruined a pairing, but I do care when one of the few strong female character leads of the superhero movie world is degraded like this. First of all - regardless of how the Red Room will play into MCU Natasha's backstory, which we still don't know yet, for the record, not that it actually matters in this case - let's not forget that Natasha's canon backstory is not exactly one of a willing participant in these matters. But even if it was, this would STILL piss me off, because STDs and HIV? Seriously? How does it even make logical sense that the Russians would allow their _top_ assassin/assassin-in-training to do that? She was not a streetwalker. She dealt with well-researched targets and was undoubtedly well-prepared for what she had to do. Also, to then insinuate that her backstory makes her _unworthy_ of Steve - if that's your opinion, then fine, but that kind of makes you a sex-shaming douchebag, if it's solely due to her prior experiences with men. I realize that Steve is a particularly precious character that we all want to protect because that's just who he is, but to do that at the expense of a character with whom he DOES canonically share an strong bond with, whether platonic (as it is in the MCU now and probably forever) or romantic or a little of both - just pretend for a moment and imagine what Steve Rogers would have to say about _that_. Seriously. I feel like he would be as pissed off as I am (But what do I know, since my Steve is so OOC. LOL). I totally get it if one simply dislikes this pairing, or prefers Steve with Peggy and nobody else. Heck, if you're one of the many who thinks that Bucky is his soulmate, then I get that too, and I am not gonna sit here and try to tell you any different on a review page or tell you why I disagree. That's what a fandom is, differing opinions and ships and that's what makes it fun, EXCEPT for when people go around reading things they KNOW they won't like and decide to be a jerk about it anyway. Seriously, if you don't like it, don't read it, and for goodness sakes, if you don't like Steve and Natasha together, PLEASE don't read this next part because you will _especially_ hate it lol. Actually, if you want to flame me or bash me, have at it (though I would appreciate the courtesy of an actual signed review if you're gonna go there). It gives me a good laugh. But have the decency to not be an offensive dick and say offensive dick things about a strong, complex character who most of us love and will write stupidly long things like this defending them when an idiot opens their mouth. **

**But, on a much lighter note lol, to the real reviewers, thank you very, very much for your feedback and your support. You are the BEST, and I hope you all like this second part/conclusion to the story. It was a lot of fun to write. Let me know what you all think, and thanks so much again for your support, seriously. It makes the occasional troll more than worth dealing with. Now, on to the very eloquently, cleverly titled part two :D**

* * *

**The Deflowering of Steve Rogers**

On second thought, maybe she should have actually knocked this time.

A few weeks after their previous encounter, no sooner had Natasha casually let herself into Steve's place had she then found herself grabbed by two hands and shoved against the wall of the short hallway in front of the door. Everything was dark, and her defenses kicked in immediately as she kicked at the figure pinning her to the wall, then gasped for air when a distinctly non-human hand clamped around her throat and gave her another good shove into the wall.

She knew who this was, but he didn't know who she was, and she knew that if she didn't take quick and drastic measures, he would succeed at his third consecutive attempt at killing her. So, as he hissed at her a demand of who she was, she saved her answer for later and kicked at his knee hard enough to put some distance between them, and then she grasped his metal forearm and used it as leverage as she lifted up both of her legs and kicked with all of her strength at his abdomen. He let go with a grunt, and he stumbled back just long enough for her to whip out her gun and then turn on the lights.

"_I'm a friend,_" she said in Russian, her gun held on the long-haired assassin currently staring at her with a mixture of madness and confusion. She wondered if he even remembered the two previous times that he had tried to kill her.

He stared for a good long while until recognition lit his somewhat dead eyes, and he said quietly, "Natalia."

"Natasha," she corrected. She didn't like that he called her that, though. Nobody had called her that in years, and he certainly didn't have the right to do so, likely only vaguely remembering it from a file HYDRA had shoved under his nose before sending him after her.

Before anything further could transpire between the two, Natasha heard distinctly wet footsteps start running their way. She glanced to her left just in time to see Steve running in from the hallway, feet sliding to a stop on the kitchen floor, one hand holding a towel over his hips and his hair soaked on top of his head as he called out with wide eyes, "Bucky? What's going... Nat?"

She might have been holding a gun on his best friend who had just choked her against a wall, but that didn't mean that she couldn't grin slightly at the absurdity of the situation. And it also didn't mean that she couldn't appreciate the sight of a very wet Steve Rogers in only a towel.

She lowered the gun and replied, "I think next time, I'll knock."

Steve sighed, looking from her to Bucky, who was still standing there with his fists clenched but with less crazed eyes than a moment ago. "Yeah, might be a good idea."

She tucked her gun away, pushing one side of her shortened red hair behind her ear, and everything was awkward silence before Steve shifted on his feet and said, "Nat, this is... Bucky. Bucky, this is Natasha."

"We've met before," Natasha smiled falsely at Bucky. "You've tried to kill me twice."

Bucky's expression darkened, and she saw irritation at her present in his eyes but also more confusion and an underlying sadness that she knew all too well. She watched as he looked at her, then at Steve, and then dropped his head as he muttered a "Sorry" and then stomped out of the room.

When she heard the slam of a bedroom door down the hallway, she looked at Steve and raised an eyebrow. "I bet you two have some interesting sleepovers."

Steve just sighed again and said, "I'm sorry. You okay?"

She shrugged. "I've had worse."

He nodded. "He's been with me for the last couple weeks. I found him the day after you... visited last."

Ah yes, her last visit. It had been an interesting night spent here in this apartment, with the mostly-naked super soldier in front of her now. He had been less naked that night, though, but maybe that was a shame...

"What brings you here?"

She blinked at his question and then asked, "Friends visit each other, right?"

He smiled. "They do. But I haven't heard from you. Didn't even know where you were."

"That was the idea," she replied.

"So what brings you back?"

"Stark, actually," she said. "He wanted me to talk to you about something. I would have waited for the morning, but..."

"... But that would have been entirely too normal," Steve replied with a slight smile that she mirrored.

"Says the national treasure currently naked and dripping all over his kitchen floor."

With a slight drop of his jaw, Steve looked down and then flushed a bright red as he laughed nervously and said, "I, uh... forgot. I'll just go... get dressed and then we can... talk."

She grinned shamelessly as he then shuffled off towards his room, glancing back and smiling a couple times with that perfect mix of boyishness and charming awkwardness that was completely fitting for a virgin of his age.

She _did_ enjoy the view, however, waiting until she heard his bedroom door close before muttering to herself, "God bless America."

Ten minutes later, she was sitting next to him on the couch, sipping a soda - how mature - that he had offered her, and she was not afraid to admit that she was a little let down by the fact that he was fully clothed now.

"So, what's Stark want?" Steve asked, hair still a little damp as he leaned back against the couch and waited for her answer.

"Well," she began, "with SHIELD gone and everybody scattered, he thinks it's time that we... reassemble." She smiled and added, "I told him to call you himself but for some reason, everybody always wants to send me to have these talks instead."

"It's because you can be very convincing," Steve replied, lips turned up at one corner. "So, by 'reassemble', does he mean..."

"Missions, intel, everything we can do that SHIELD can't anymore," she explained.

"That's gonna take a lot more than six people," Steve pointed out.

"There's more than six of us," she replied. "Those of us who weren't HYDRA are still around. Somebody has to keep watch."

"Keep watch?" he repeated. "Is that what spies do?"

Clint said something similar to that when Natasha had this same talk with him a few days ago. He had asked what had happened to the woman she had been before New York. She threw the question back at him when he had agreed to the "reassembly", which was something neither of them would have been particularly interested in a few years ago. The truth was, none of them were the same, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"I don't know what I do anymore," she admitted. "I haven't known since New Jersey."

He nodded understandingly. "I know the feeling. But is this what you want? This... Avenger stuff?"

"Well," she sighed, "if you've got any other ideas for me, I'm all ears."

He chuckled. "I'll let you know if one comes to me."

"What about you?" she asked.

He paused, looking at the drink in his own hand and shaking his head before replying, "I don't know anything else. And now that I've found Bucky... I guess I need to get back to work."

"How is he?" she asked quietly.

Steve's expression became one of pain as he replied just as quietly, "He's... as okay as I can expect him to be. It's hard. He doesn't remember much. He's so different..." he trailed off and shook his head. "But he's alive. He's safe. We'll get there."

"There's a doctor who might be able to help him," she said. "Clint's been seeing him ever since New York. He says it's helped a lot."

Steve nodded. "Okay. Yeah. I don't think Bucky would want to talk to anyone, but..."

"It'll help," Natasha nodded. "I'll call Clint tomorrow and get his number."

"Thanks," Steve replied. "That's nice of you, considering how Bucky attacked you half an hour ago."

She shrugged it off and said, "Therapy might reduce the odds of him attacking me again in the future, so it's in my interests."

It wasn't a very funny joke, admittedly, and neither of them laughed. She noticed that Steve looked even more sleep-deprived than before, and it was clear that the ordeal with Bucky was taking its toll on him. As she analyzed him, he glanced at her and asked, "So where are you staying tonight?"

_This again._ Not wanting this to turn into a repeat of the last time she paid him a visit, Natasha just smiled coyly and said, "You don't have to worry about me. You've got more than enough worrying on your plate already."

"I'm not worried," he shook his head. "But I don't mind taking the couch again."

Of course he didn't. He wouldn't be him if he minded. And she wouldn't be her if she didn't take the opportunity to tease him. "You know, in this century, it's not unheard of for two people to sleep in the same bed. Platonically. The couch is too small for you, anyway."

"I don't think..." he trailed off, flushing again slightly and smiling just a little as he stared down at his hands. "Let's just say I'm old fashioned."

_Obviously_, she wanted to say back, but she was briefly disarmed by the way that he looked up at her and grinned a little. There was something distinctly non-platonic about it, and it was hard to not think back to what it had felt like when he had kissed her a few weeks ago. She had not expected it, had not anticipated the way that he responded to her "practice" kiss by taking her face in his hands and kissing her much more deeply, maybe even passionately, in a way that had affected her more than she ever would have admitted.

He was just so pure and so honest. With him, there was never any games, no agendas, none of the things that she was so skilled at but growing quite sick of the more she encountered them in other people. Wearing a false identity and getting close to nobody was indeed a good way not to die, but with Steve, none of that seemed to hold up very well.

And the fact that he was one of very few people she genuinely trusted in the world was no insignificant detail.

But it was all beside the point. Whatever happened last time couldn't happen again, for a myriad of reasons. So she just smiled and said, "Well, I won't impose."

"You wouldn't be," he said all too quickly. He wanted her to stay.

She sighed, knowing what was going on here. "Look, about the last time I was here..."

"I'm not... it's not about that," he said. "And I know what you're gonna say."

"Do you?" she asked, genuinely curious what he thought was on the tip of her tongue.

"Yes. We're friends. We work together. We trust each other. And that's all it was." When her silence served as confirmation that he was right, he went on, "And you're right. I'm not trying to push anything here, so don't think I am."

"Okay," she nodded. "But I really do have somewhere else to stay."

He nodded back. "All right. You staying in town?"

"For now," she replied.

"Then I hope I see you more than once a month," he half-smiled.

"You will," she assured him. "I get the feeling we're all gonna be seeing a lot of each other pretty soon."

Steve nodded, then said after a brief silence, "I'd rather deal with you than Tony any day, and feel free to pass the message along."

She laughed softly and took a sip of her soda. The rest of the night passed by easily, with the sort of ease that she enjoyed between them, and when she left to head back to her own place, she did so with full confidence that the one odd night they shared those weeks ago was in the past and not a problem. Things were normal, and soon they would be colleagues again. All was as it should be, and she had no doubt that it would stay that way.

At least, until a week later, which was when a simple, casual night in his apartment became something more that neither one of them could forget.

* * *

She liked Sam. He was nice, he had a great personality, and he was one of the easiest people to get along with that she had ever met. And he was even easier to flirt with. So, flirt she did, two or three glasses of wine into her next night at Steve's place, where Sam convinced them both to play poker after Bucky had trudged off to his room to be alone following dinner.

Steve and Sam were on the couch, and she was seated in a chair opposite them as they played the game on a small coffee table between them. To absolutely nobody's surprise, she was winning, and winning handily. They really should have known better than to think they could best a world-famous spy at a game that was far more strategy and bluffing than it was luck.

"Ugh!" Sam groaned as he threw his cards down on the table after yet another hand was claimed by her. "This is ridiculous! Thank God I didn't suggest strip poker like I halfway wanted to."

Natasha replied by taking a sip of her wine and saying, "If you want to see me naked, all you have to do is ask nicely and I might think about it."

Sam's eyebrows shot up his forehead while Steve's stayed exactly where they were. Her eyes flickered to him for just a split second, but it was long enough to see the instant slight glower on his face.

"Oh really?" Sam replied with a grin, and she shot him a grin right back.

"I said I'd _think_ about it," she clarified.

"Well now I'm definitely _thinking_ about it," he replied playfully, gathering up the cards to shuffle them. "Not sure I can _think_ about anything else now. This is part of your strategy, isn't it?"

She laughed quietly, taking another sip of wine. Steve was staring down at his hands, trying to appear nonchalant, but she could read him like a book.

And so, she did what she knew she shouldn't do, and she kept flirting just to see how much jealousy she draw out of him. At first, she was endlessly amused by the tightness in his jaw and the way that he would pointedly look at anything else when she would make a suggestive comment and Sam would go with it. But then, when he didn't get over it like she thought he would, it became less of a game of amusement and one of curiosity, because she knew that jealousy like that, however harmless on the surface, had to exist for a reason.

Sam seemed to understand that it was all in good fun, harmless flirting that would probably lead nowhere. But Steve was a different story, and by the time that Sam left to head home to his own apartment, Natasha decided that it was time for one of her famous interrogations.

Steve was washing a few glasses in the sink, so she took her empty wine glass and sauntered into the kitchen. When he saw her walk in, he gestured to the counter beside him and said, "Set that here and I'll take care of it."

She nodded, setting the glass down and then turning, leaning her back against the counter as she asked teasingly, "What's with the long face?"

He glanced up at her and asked, "What long face?"

She gave him a pointed look. "Oh, come on, Steve. You've had this look on your face all night."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied unconvincingly, seemingly fixated with washing the glass in his hand.

Fair enough. She knew what would probably get the most telling reaction out of him. Her expression became curious as she asked, "Is Sam single?"

Suddenly, he shut the water off slightly aggressively and dumped the glass into a rack to dry, then grabbed a towel to dry his hands as he replied, "Yes. He is."

She smirked at his clipped reply and then said, "You know, friends don't usually get that jealous over friends flirting with other friends."

"Yeah, well, friends don't..." he cut himself off and pursed his lips, tossing the towel on the counter and then putting his hands on his hips as he looked up at her. "Do you like him?"

"Yeah," she answered lightly. "He's nice. He's funny. What's not to like?"

"And if he asked you out, would you say yes?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly but replied, "Maybe."

Steve then smiled humorlessly and raised his eyebrows as he said, "But if I asked, it's an automatic no, right?"

Suddenly, she wished that she had just left well enough alone. She hadn't intended to genuinely upset Steve. She couldn't think of a scenario where she would ever want to do that. "Steve..."

"No, don't 'Steve' me," he said, and she stared, taken aback at just how annoyed he really was. "You work with him now too. He's a friend. What is the difference between me and him?"

"... There's a pretty big difference, actually," she said, her eyebrows drawing together tighter the longer this strange conversation went on.

"Like what?" he pressed.

She decided to cut this off before it went any further. "I thought you understood where I stood on this."

"Yeah, I thought so too," he replied. "If you don't want to get close to anybody, especially people you work with, I get that. But that's not what this is, is it?" When she said nothing, he asked, "If you're trying to 'protect' me -"

"Steve, don't," she warned.

"Why not?" he challenged. "And while we're talking about friends, friends don't kiss each other the way you kissed me."

She rolled her eyes. "It was a kiss, Steve. It meant nothing."

"Then why are you so against it happening again?"

She looked at him defiantly, narrowing her eyes. "I'm not."

"Then you're against it being anything more than just that," he deducted.

"There is no 'it', Steve," she argued.

"Fine. Prove it, then."

She slightly raised one eyebrow at him, knowing that he full well knew that she never backed down from a challenge. Maybe he was getting to know her better than she realized.

Either way, she crossed the short distance to him and set out to prove the vast amount of nothingness between them by pulling him down to her height and kissing him without a second thought. This, she thought, would surely put an end to this silliness, and she would learn from this experience that men as old-fashioned as Steve Rogers could not and should not be toyed with the way that she toyed with other men. Then they would again return to normal, and one day they would look back on these handfuls of kisses they shared and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

It only took her a few seconds to realize how very wrong she was.

The moment their lips touched, his hands landed on her hips and his mouth was eager against hers, desperate to prove her wrong and succeeding. He pulled her closer, against the almost marble-like hardness of his chest, and when she sucked in a breath of slight surprise, he took it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss and take it from a quick, fleeting one to a long, slow, undeniably intense thing.

So much for practice. He had taken her "lessons" to heart and had exceeded them.

But she wasn't lost to him or the kiss. Her head was still firmly fixed between her shoulders and she had every intention of walking away once this was over. But then he moaned - _moaned_ \- into the kiss, and it was so deep and unexpected that it became her undoing.

They broke apart, and she opened her eyes and stared at him, breathing through parted lips as he looked at her with a mixture of heat and lust and...

_No_, she decided. If she was going to do this, the only way would be to ignore the affection in his eyes and the threat that it was. It was risky enough doing this at all without having to tiptoe through that particular minefield.

Luckily, he kissed her again, before she could talk herself out of what was happening. This time she felt herself being slowly walked backwards, until her back hit the counter and there was nowhere to go but closer to him. His tongue played a game with hers as his hands, markedly less timid than they were last time, moved up and down her hips and then over them, moving down until the back of her denim-clad thighs were in his grasp.

But before he could lift her up on to the counter, she broke away and said, "Couch."

He nodded breathlessly, and then she was the one steering them out of the kitchen, towards the couch, all while his lips moved to her neck and did a very good job of distracting her. Still, once the couch was in sight, she pulled his head away and then gave him a push. He fell back on to the couch, sitting up against the middle of it, and she tried not to grin _too_ predator-like as she then climbed on to his lap, knees on either side of his legs. He watched her every move through slightly hooded eyes and with parted lips, until her lips met his again in a quiet fury, and she didn't dare let herself think for fear of ruining it.

This was not _practice_, not a friendly helping hand, nothing like the previous kisses had been. He felt desperate as he kissed her, like he had been starved for attention for an eternity and now couldn't get it fast enough. His hands were restless, moving up and down her sides, her back, her hips and her legs, but her hair was almost always within his fingers. He ran them through it, tangled the strands and a few times crunched them in his fist when she diverted her kisses to his neck, kissing him there the way that she had before, the way that she knew would drive him crazy. When the hand not buried in her hair slid slightly under the back of her shirt, so that his fingertips just grazed her skin, she suddenly had an overwhelming need for more, but, ever a beacon of self-control, she reined it in. This was Steve. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be fast or cheap.

When their lips met again, he surprised her by again letting out a low, breathy groan against her mouth and then pulling her hips down against his. She shivered at the feel of him, of his need for her, and she began rolling her hips slowly, almost experimentally, testing his reactions. He responded by breaking their kiss and breathing in pants against her lips, his grip on her now nearly tight enough to bruise, and she grinned as she asked lowly, "Should I stop?"

"No," he nearly moaned, dragging his lips down along her neck as she continued to move. He kissed along her chest, under her collarbone and along the neckline of her shirt, and when he started to move his hips upwards against hers, she wondered if he was even aware of his own movements and how he was trembling slightly against her.

All of this, and they were both still fully clothed. Had that not been the case, she was fairly sure that he may have suffered a sudden heart attack and collapsed.

But this felt right to her, because it was _something_ but it wasn't too much, and judging by his increasingly heavy breaths and almost messy way that he thrusted against her, it was more than enough for him. She guided his lips back to hers, and as she picked up speed, she took one of his hands and moved it up the front of her shirt, until it was over her breast. She pressed his hand down until he squeezed it himself, and when he moaned at _that_ too, she almost did as well, but she managed to keep the sound back as she bit her bottom lip.

The unexpectedness of it all, and not to mention Steve's equally unexpected vocalness, left her on the edge of getting equally as caught up as he was. But, before a single sound could escape her own mouth, he was suddenly stiffening underneath her and gasping into her neck, and it was with great satisfaction that she held him close and let him fall apart in her arms. There was no hiding the little grin on her face, just as there was no hiding the heavy pants pouring from his mouth and the deep relaxation spreading through his muscles. She could nearly feel them loosening under fingers, even through his shirt, and as the moment faded, his arms wrapped around her and held on like she was his anchor to the world.

She had not been expecting it to end like _that_. She thought that it would have taken a bit more effort on her part, but the fact that it hadn't just made her smile even more. It felt like they were teenagers, "fooling around" on a living room couch, all of their clothes still on, and Steve now a literal mess beneath her.

She had kissed him to prove that there was nothing between them, and somehow it had turned into this. But she didn't regret a thing, at least not yet.

"Well," she said after a long silence and after his breaths had calmed down some against her neck, "that was easy."

He chuckled, and it was a breathy, carefree sound. She didn't expect her heart to briefly skip when she heard it, nor did she expect the shiver that ran down her spine when he placed a small, sweet kiss on the curve of her neck.

The sound of footsteps from the hall broke the revelry of the moment, and she turned her head around to see Bucky emerging from the hallway with an empty cup in his hands. He stopped for a moment, looked at them like they were seven-headed freaks from Mars, then continued on his way to the kitchen. He flipped on the sink, filled up the cup with water, turned off the sink, then turned and walked back into the hallway, but not before again looking at them like they were the weirdest thing he had ever seen.

After, Steve asked against her neck that he still had not moved from, ".. Bucky?"

"Yep," she replied, fingers softly moving through his hair at the back of his head. "Good thing he didn't walk in a few seconds sooner."

That was when Steve finally left the safety of her neck to draw back some, and she lowered her eyes to run them across his face. His cheeks were colored with a faint blush, lips rosy and swollen with all of the kisses they had shared, but his eyes were what got her. She had never had a man look at her with a such a mixture of charm and slight shyness, especially after what had just happened. Then again, what had just happened had been a first for her, and it was really remarkable, she thought, that _anything_ could be a first for the both of them.

"Natasha..."

She shook her head. "You don't have to say anything."

"... I think I do," he said seriously.

"You don't," she assured him. Then she cocked an eyebrow and said, "Sometimes friends can be good for stress relief."

He didn't return the grin that she shot him. "Stress relief." She nodded, and then his eyes dropped down to her lips before he swallowed visibly and then asked with a blush, "Your turn?"

If it had been five minutes earlier, she would have said yes without a second thought. But now, for some reason - maybe it was the way that he was looking at her, or the way that he was holding her still - she felt like the only safe place to be was _away_. She could say stress relief all day but it wouldn't change the fact that it was more for him and she damn well knew it.

She needed to stop letting these things happen in the first place.

Her lips quirked in a grin and she said, "Actually, I think it's time I headed home. Besides, you've got a date with your shower."

She tried to ignore the disappointment in his eyes at those words, but the shower remark made the blush in his cheeks flare up all over again. "But... _Nat_, I... you..."

"I'm fine," she assured him, smoothly moving off of his lap and getting to her feet in front of him. He just continued to stare at her with all the woundedness of a kicked puppy, like he was genuinely devastated that she wouldn't let him return the favor to her.

The thought nearly made her rethink her decision. Did he even know how to do such a thing? Would he ask her to teach him, guide him in learning how to please a woman, if she stayed and moved them from the couch to his bedroom?

Her phone ringing in her pocket jolted her from the unexpectedly titillating thoughts. She almost jumped a little before finally looking away from him and checking her phone. She read the caller I.D. and then sent it to voicemail for the time being, looking at Steve - still sitting there on the couch as if he may just be stuck there for awhile, trying to regroup and recover fully - and she banished thoughts of what she could do to this man if she _really_ tried and said, "See you next week."

His mouth opened but no words came out, and she walked away before he could figure out something to say that would persuade her to stay.

On her way out of his apartment and down the stairs, she called the number back that she had sent to voicemail and said when a familiar voice answered, "Clint... I think I might be getting myself into some trouble."

Maybe she was already in it.

* * *

Words could barely describe the state of confusion Steve spent the next week in.

She was like a wisp of smoke, he thought, a wisp of smoke that kept flitting through the air when he wasn't expecting it, teasing him, and every time he tried to catch it, it evaporated before his eyes. Nobody could catch smoke, of course, and he should know better than to try, but the serum hadn't made him any less human. He was _very_ human, and very confused on where they stood and exactly what had even happened on his couch. Aside from the obvious.

He knew what she was. She wasn't one for attachments, probably of any kind. That was how she survived. But that wasn't the whole of her. It was a facet of who she was, and he knew there was a whole lot more under that often-aloof surface. She was strong, brave, a lot more selfless than she seemed to think she was. Beautiful, complicated, and many more adjectives he chose not to add because he was starting to think that he had a type and that thought brought up a nagging sense of irrational guilt that would help nothing.

It was just like everything else in his life at the current time - confusing, complex, unfamiliar. With SHIELD gone, the structure that he relied on more than he had realized was gone. He had to figure out his place in the world all over again. He had his best friend back but he was a shadow of his former self and seeing him every day was a fresh stab to the heart. Everything that he had known was upside down, and now there was this _thing_ with Natasha, and what the hell did it all mean?

_Always so dramatic_. Yeah, yeah, he wanted to say back to the chiding, familiar voice in his head. Some things never changed.

And if he spent one night on his couch, silently sitting across from Bucky who was reading a biography bearing his own name, scribbling on a piece of paper that turned into a sketch of a hand trying to catch smoke, well... nobody needed to see it or understand what it meant.

After it was mostly finished, he gave his hand a rest and glanced over at Bucky. He was engrossed in the story of his own life, staring at the pages like he might set the whole thing on fire once he was done with it. Steve had to fight the urge to open his mouth and blurt out everything on his mind, everything about himself and Natasha, because doing so felt like the most natural idea in the world. He could hear the whole conversation in his head, watch it play out like a movie. He would stammer out everything that happened and Bucky would laugh at him, tease him a little for just sitting there and letting Nat leave after the last _incident_, then make up a game plan for him on how to "reel her in" - very detailed plan that he would make Steve repeat at least twice, satisfying Bucky that he understood what to do and how to do it.

The only problem was, the Bucky sitting before him now was not the same one that Steve had grown up with, and he would probably just stare at Steve blankly if he brought up any of it. He had prepared himself for this, but there was something almost unbearably sad about having Bucky so close and yet completely out of reach.

An incoming text stole his attention, and it turned out to be none other than Natasha, informing him of her imminent arrival bearing information that she and Tony had uncovered regarding leftover HYDRA agents that had scurried underground after SHIELD's fall. He took a deep breath and typed out a quick reply, then set aside his pencil and paper.

He was on his own figuring this one out, and he would just have to make it work.

As soon as he told Bucky they were about to have company, his expression grew mildly annoyed and he nodded before silently leaving the room with his book. That left Steve alone, on his couch, thinking about the last time he had been left there, and he never knew whether to be embarrassed or proud of what had happened. He felt like he should be embarrassed, but he really wasn't, at least not anymore. The confusion had long outweighed the embarrassment.

She knocked this time. He got up and went to the door, putting on his best nonchalant smile - which was not a very good one - and let her in, and for awhile, everything was maddeningly normal.

She plopped down on his couch without a second thought, grabbing his laptop that he offered and plugging in a flash drive as he sat next to her. It was all business as they then looked over a list of known and suspected HYDRA agents, and it was depressing enough to distract him from his other problems. Many of the faces that Nat scrolled through were faces he used to see every day, people who would tell him good morning and make small talk in the elevator before heading off to their own floors to do their work. It was still mind boggling to know that these people had been actively undermining everything he had spent his life defending and upholding.

An hour went by where they went through the list, discussed different possibilities and leads, things that Stark had proposed, all manners of everything of utmost importance. Nothing was awkward and he was grateful for that, but when they ran out of things to talk over, that sense of ease started to run dry.

"Next time," she said, closing his laptop and removing the flash drive, "come to Stark Tower. I don't mind making house calls but sooner or later you're going to have to deal with Tony with the rest of us."

Steve smiled faintly. "Okay. But for the record, I don't mind the house calls either."

She set the laptop down on the coffee table, her lips quirking slightly at his remark, but then his sketchbook caught her eye and she picked it up curiously. "Oh, what's this?"

It was in her hands before he could stop her, though she caught his instant slight squirm of discomfort and how he reached out to grab the book before thinking better of it and drawing his hand back. She raised an eyebrow and asked, "Got secret things in here?"

He shook his head. "No. You can look."

So she did. He watched her flip through the first few pages, and she didn't ask what the one with the hand and the smoke was supposed to represent. Most of the drawings were, in his mind, unremarkable, mostly just a way for him to process the world around him and get certain thoughts and feelings out and down on paper. Everything was drawn in pencil, and there was only one drawing in the entire book that contained a true color. It was the one drawing that he didn't want her to see, so naturally, it was one of the first ones she found.

He watched her eyes widen fractionally and her entire demeanor change when she saw it. Curious became stunned and speechless, and he waited cautiously for her to say something.

The drawing was of her, of course. Mostly just her head and shoulders, at a slight sideways angle as she smiled with her eyes downcast towards the floor. It wasn't one of her coy smiles or a flirty one, but instead the kind he saw when he said something that she found funny and smiled to mask a laugh. What set it apart from the other pictures was the bright, deep red coloring of her hair. It had taken him the better part of a day to get the shading the way that he wanted it, which had been the day after she had kissed him in his bedroom.

"You drew this from memory?" she asked quietly, not taking her eyes off of the paper.

He nodded. "Yeah. It's not perfect, though. Could have made it a lot better if you had been there."

She shook her head just slightly. "No, it's... it's good." He watched her swallow and then add still quietly, "Nobody's ever drawn me before."

He thought through a few different replies before settling on one of the more adventurous ones. "Glad I could be your first for something."

Then she smiled, and it was just like the drawing that she was still looking at.

"You can have that if you want," he said. When she looked at him, he added with a shrug, "If you want."

"Is this how you see me?" she asked, her tone still quiet and curious.

He glanced at the drawing and answered, "It's one of the ways that I see you."

"What are the others?"

He paused and met her gaze again. "I think you know."

She let her eyes drift from his back to the paper again as she said, "This is a bad idea, Steve."

... There was a _this_ now?

"You know me," she added. "What you want isn't what I do."

"You know what I want?" he asked.

She looked at him knowingly. "You want something people like us don't really get to have. What we _can_ have is a lot more simple and a lot different from what you're used to."

He knew what she meant. "Maybe it doesn't have to be that way."

"It does," she sighed. "Anything more is just..."

"A risk?" he guessed. "Yeah. I'm familiar with those. Kind of an every day thing for me."

She smiled a little and shook her head. "You deserve better. Something... different. Why do you think I tried so hard to get you to date someone?"

He didn't say anything, understanding why that was now. It was as if she thought he was too good and too pure for the world that they lived in, and in her own odd little ways, she did what she could to to protect him from it.

The only problem was, when people tried to protect him, it tended to make him run into the face of danger all the more quickly. It was a recurring problem.

"To be fair," he said, "most of those girls were probably working for HYDRA."

She chuckled humorlessly. "You might be right."

"I know one who wasn't, though."

At that, she sighed and set the book down on the coffee table. She placed her hands down on the cushion beneath her, next to her legs, and stared forward. He could see the wheels turning in her head, watch her decision-making process play out behind her eyes, and he held his breath waiting for her to say something.

But she didn't say a word. Instead, she looked at him one more time before standing up, and instead of heading towards the front door like he assumed she would, she started walking towards the hallway where his bedroom was.

Halfway there, she turned and looked at him over her shoulder. "You coming?"

His mouth fell open in slight shock but nothing came out. She grinned at his reaction and then turned and kept on her way.

Once she disappeared into his room, he sprung up from the couch so fast that his foot caught the coffee table and knocked it over, sending his laptop, sketchbook, and an empty cup to the floor. He quickly scrambled to set it all back up and then tried not to run too quickly into his room, but really, there was no hope for a calm entrance. He sprinted down the hallway and then half-stumbled into his room, only to be immediately grabbed by the collar and then pulled inside as the door slammed shut.

Whatever _this_ was, it was happening.

Her lips instantly met his for a kiss, and it was unlike the other first kisses they'd had because there was no hiding or pretending behind this one. Her hands left his collar and slid behind his neck as he took her waist and pulled her in closer, almost staggering under how fast and how hard she was kissing him. It was nice, but it wasn't what he wanted, and he didn't think that she really did either. So his hands moved up to her face, which they cradled as he broke away, his forehead briefly resting against hers before he leaned in and kissed her, much more slowly and sweetly but no less deeply.

As long as this was happening, he wanted to savor it. It didn't have to be like a tornado dropping unexpectedly from the sky and then vanishing just as quickly. He'd rather light a fire and watch it grow slowly, naturally, without anything holding it back.

By the time he drew away for a breath, she was panting in a way that surprised him. Her eyes stayed closed for a moment before they opened, the green depths meeting his blue ones as she licked her lips and said, "I'm not gonna sleep with you. You've waited too long for your first time not to mean something."

He was instantly prepared to argue this one into next year, starting with her very faulty assumption that sleeping with her would mean nothing to him. But as soon as he opened his mouth, she placed one slender finger over his lips and said, "That still leaves plenty for us to do."

She then drew her finger away, and she smiled at the blush that crept up his neck. "Yeah, I uh... I guess that's... true, but..."

"All of which I am assuming you have never done before."

He shook his head to confirm her assumptions. Rather than put her off, she seemed pleased by this, and the blush rose to cover his cheeks.

To compensate for their height difference, she had to lean up on her toes to gently kiss his neck, while her hands slowly moved up his arms to his shoulders. When she kissed under his ear, she nearly whispered, "And I get the impression that you want to go slow."

He nodded, not trusting his mouth to say actual words, and then she drew away with a faint grin still on her lips as she dropped her hands from his shoulders. "Take my shirt off."

He stared at her for all of a nanosecond before he jumped to obey the order and moved his hands from her hips to the hem of her shirt, taking it off so fast he was almost worried after the fact that he might have hurt her. But he didn't, of course, and he was instantly _very_ distracted by the sight of her black lace bra with little hints of red throughout the trim. It was almost too fitting, not that he had time to comment on it before she was wrestling off his own shirt.

Once it hit the floor on top of hers, she grabbed him and pulled him back down for another kiss as she began also slowly walking them backwards, towards his bed. He didn't notice how she got her shoes off in the process, focusing instead on running his hands up and down her back, at least until they stopped and she broke away to ask, "Am I going to have to tell you everything to do, step by step? Not that I mind it, but..."

He was starting to like it when she challenged him like this. He grinned for a very brief second before he kissed her again, then answered her question by slowly dropping to his knees in front of her, kissing down her neck and all the way to just under her navel as he went. He sensed her surprise when she steadied herself with a hand in his hair, and as he kissed softly along the soft skin of her belly, his hands worked to unzip and pull down her jeans from her legs. He was inexperienced, not _useless_.

Her jeans tossed on the floor, his eyes were greeted by the sight of her matching underwear, and he had to wonder if she hadn't done this on purpose and came here tonight with the full intention of seducing him. He would never know, because she gently tugged on his hair and he rose back up to his feet, kissing her again while her fingers went between them to undo his belt. She only half succeeded before he leaned forward, gently laying her down on his bed and then climbing over her.

He took a moment to fully appreciate the sight before him, of her fiery hair spread out under her head on his pillow, the rest of her nearly bare to him, and while some men might have taken the opportunity to say something else in that moment, he decided to trail his eyes all the way down her body as he said, "I was right."

She raised an eyebrow. "About?"

"... You would look just terrible in a bikini."

If she had rolled her eyes any harder in reply, she would have needed a doctor.

He barely had time to laugh before she hooked her leg around his hip and rolled them over with ease, smiling despite his joke as she sat on his hips and ran her hands up his chest as she leaned down to kiss him. "Less talking, soldier."

He couldn't promise he would stick to that, but he smiled his agreement before she kissed him and continued to run her fingertips along his torso. He closed his eyes when her lips drifted from his to his neck, then down to his chest, all while his own fingers ran mindlessly through her hair. Just when he was almost starting to believe that this was actually happening, she again took away his ability to think at all by teasingly kissing a trail down his abdomen and then sitting back up. Hers eyes met his as she reached behind her, unhooked her bra, and then let it fall from her fingers. He sat up so fast that she actually laughed at him.

"Need any direction yet?" she asked teasingly as he stared shamelessly at what she bared to him, his hands briefly frozen in their place on her hips. He glanced up at her and shook his head, then moved his hands that were _definitely_ not shaking at _all_ and took each of her breasts within them, taking his time in feeling them and looking at them because he had waited a _long time _for this.

She didn't mind, and at the first touch of his lips to one, she made a sound like an appreciative hum and moved her fingers back to his hair, holding him a little closer. With one of his hands free now, he wrapped it around her back and felt it arch when he laved his tongue on her nipple. Her fingers tightening and thighs squeezing slightly on his lap was all the direction he needed, and it was also enough to make an almost embarrassing sound fly from his throat.

Super-stamina aside, when they got to the serious part of this, it was going to be over incredibly quickly.

After that, there was a lot of moving and shifting, even more kissing and touches that were sometimes experimental but always welcomed and well-received. Neither of them said a word until he ended up on top of her again, kissing her like he'd quit breathing if he stopped, and in the daze of it all, his hand brushed down lower past her stomach than he intended, and a soft shudder beneath him made him open his eyes and finally break the kiss.

Leaning on his elbow next to her, he looked down and watched his free hand run down over her hipbone, then the top of her thigh. He leaned down and peppered little kisses to her neck as his fingers drifted softly inwards, and his voice sounded strangely heavy to his own ears when he lifted his head and admitted, "I might need some direction now."

He watched her lips curl into a smirk and she replied, "I don't know... I'm curious to see what you'll come up with on your own."

As much as he liked her confidence in him, he replied quietly, "I'd rather know that I'm doing it right. I want..."

"Want what?" she asked, leaning up to kiss along his jawline as he tried to form the right words.

"I want to you to feel as good as you make me feel," he said, and though he could feel his face burning a little after he got the words out, he was glad that he said it because of what came next.

"All right," she said softly, reaching down and taking his hand to draw it away from where he thought it was supposed to be. Before he could ask about it, she gave him a look and said, "I've always preferred to teach by showing. Seems to be the most effective way. What do you think?"

_What did he think_? He stared at her in a mild stupor for a moment before catching himself and suddenly nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, whatever you... whatever you think. Do you mean..."

She nodded, and his eyes glued themselves to her hand as it lazily made its way down her own body. "Just watch," she said, grinning at his wider eyes and already-faster breaths, and he gulped and nodded without daring look away. "And whenever you want to take over... just do it."

The words echoed through his mind and crawled down his spine. _Just do it_.

And eventually, he did. And when he watched her face as her nails dug gently into the back of his shoulder, her breath leaving her lips in a shaky gasp of a moan that he was the cause of, he suddenly had an idea for the next picture he wanted to sketch.

* * *

After that night, things changed. Natasha stopped running - to a point - and she decided to let herself see what might result from this... whatever it was. Sometimes she would cheekily call it his "higher education", other times she would call it "the very slow and gradual deflowering of Steve Rogers", but whatever she called it to get a rise out of him, it didn't change what it was.

And what it was, was the start of a whole lot more.

Steve began to text her on a regular basis, the way that a boyfriend would, she suspected. He would talk to her about anything and everything, from his struggles with his best friend to what he had for lunch and a hilarious "new" show he watched the other day. She had informed him with great amusement that _Friends_ was actually sort of old now, but she was glad that he was acclimating to the world better and better as time went on.

And he was also an exceptionally eager and gifted _student_, as it turned out.

She stuck to her guns about not sleeping with him, because she really did want something better for him. It seemed like a shame to have waited as long as he had to then just let her have his virginity, but the longer that this _thing_ went on and the more time they spent together, the more insistent he became that she was worried for nothing.

One night, about two weeks after seeing his sketch of her led to his first night of good old fashioned fooling around, she was lounging in his bed with his sheet covering her when she first threw out the term "friends with benefits". She had then defined the term before he cut her off, saying that he knew what the term meant - he'd had cable to two whole years now, after all - and that he wasn't interested in that. She hadn't pressed the issue, but it made her feel a bit more uneasy about what they were doing.

He wasn't in a rush to label them. But he did ask her out at least once every other day. She would say that she was busy - which was true - and would point out that Bucky wasn't in the best condition to be left alone at the apartment while they went out anyway, which was also true. Steve would nod his understanding, but then he'd say something like how the dinners and movies they shared in the apartment probably counted as dates anyway. She would give him a look, and he would grin and change the subject.

She ignored all of that for the better part of a month. It was easy to do when he used his growing confidence and expanding skill set to render her incapable of thought night after night. In fact, he had begun to get a little _too_ good, because though she had never been particularly noisy in bed before, some nights, an irritated fist banging on the other side of the wall alerted them to just _how_ loud she was actually being.

Who knew that soldiers in their upper nineties could be so... _invigorating_?

Usually, it was easy to let the jokes and the fun of it take her mind off of the consequences and the reality of what they were doing. But that flew out the window after the end of that first month, on a Friday night, when she walked into his apartment and walked into a "date" that he had set up for them right there in the middle of his apartment.

The man had actually cooked himself. He turned out to not be so bad at it. He gave her a small bouquet of flowers almost the minute she stepped inside, and then when they ate, they ate over candlelights and good dishes that she had never seen before.

Steve had been very noticeable nervous about the whole thing from the start, and she hadn't known what to say. This was another first for her, and it only served to further chip away at her resolve to keep what they had casual.

... But had it ever _really_ been casual? Why were the lines so hard to see when it came to Steve? Was it because he was continually erasing the lines that she tried to draw between them?

As if the "date" hadn't been enough, he then further bewildered her by taking her up to the roof of his apartment with a bottle of wine. The stars weren't easy to see this deep into the city, but it didn't matter. Something was changing, and she was losing her will to fight it. What was she even fighting for at this point?

They kissed under the moonlight, and a short time later, they kissed under his slowly turning ceiling fan, in the bed that had slowly become far more comfortable than the one she had at her own place. She wasn't sure at first if he could also feel the change or if it was all in her head, wished into existence by that neglected part of her that desperately wanted what he so desperately wanted to give her. She didn't deserve it, but it was hard to remember all the reasons why when he would tell her that he believed in her and would look at her in a way that made it incredibly clear that this was much more than a physical thing.

He stripped her slowly that night, kissing every inch of her and taking his time. He always took his time, but that night he was especially torturous, using everything he had learned about what she liked to keep her just on the edge and needing more. It was when they were both naked and she was losing her resolve to never beg anyone for anything that he kissed her slowly and sweetly, the way that she both loved and hated because of the welcome and not-so-welcome things that it made her feel, and she knew what he was going to ask her. What she didn't know was what her answer was going to be.

"Natasha," he said quietly, breathlessly, trailing kisses along her jaw, her neck, everywhere his lips could reach. "I know you're sick of me asking..."

She closed her eyes and swallowed down a sudden lump in her throat, almost losing her breath when his fingers entwined with her own next to her head.

"... And if you really don't want to, I won't ask you again, but... it really seems like you do want to."

She could see how it might appear that way, being naked in his bed more nights than she wasn't.

She opened his eyes and found his full of sincerity and heat as he kissed her softly and then said, "I know you want my first time to mean something. I do too. And I'm telling you that it _will_. It will, Natasha."

And that was just what she had been afraid of all this time. But now, her hesitations hardly seemed to matter anymore. He had crawled under her skin, past the metaphorical armor protecting it, and she had never been more convinced that she was worming her way into the heart he kept on his sleeve. It was all still a bad idea and there were a thousand horrible ways that this could end, but what else could she say when he was looking at her the way that he was, like she was the center of his existence in that moment and like she held the entire world in her hands?

He kissed her one more time, in his unbearably soft way, and murmured one word against her lips. "Please."

There was nothing else she could say but yes.

She answered with her actions rather than words, and he seemed to understand through the way that she pulled him down and kissed him hungrily, openly, with nothing held back anymore. Despite what the world may have thought of her, she was only human, underneath everything that made her who she was, and that humanity _sang_ when he touched her.

She rolled them over, placing herself on top of him as he looked up at her through eyes heavy with need. That need, while being placated quite often by her, had not been fully sated once since the start of this, but she was going to change that now.

She leaned down and kissed him, giving him one last chance to come to his senses and change his mind. "You sure about this?"

He merely smiled a little and tangled his fingers in her hair, kissing her deeply before giving her his answer. "You know I am."

She did. She had known for longer than she was willing to admit.

And so, after a few more kisses and a few more moments of his hands dragging up and down her skin, leaving warmth and need in the trails that they left along it, she finally gave up the fight and gave in, as much to herself as she was giving in to him.

She straightened up some but stayed leaning forward, her lips never far from his when the moment came. Just a small shift of her hips and a slow, satisfying sinking later, and her traitorous heart nearly stopped pounding in her chest entirely at what she watched unfold on Steve's face.

His expression of boyish, quietly excited anticipation had changed completely the moment she moved and took what he had so willingly given her. His eyes fluttered shut for only a moment, the same moment that a little gasp left his mouth only to be followed by an equally soft but heart-stopping moan. The hand in her hair tightened, just a little bit, and his eyes opened fully and refocused on hers, and she knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had been right.

Despite her well-justified resistance, despite everything that was surely waiting down the road to make this spectacularly blow up in their faces, and despite all the things that would be racing through her mind when she woke up the next morning, none of that mattered. It didn't matter because other things were more important, like the awestruck way that he was staring at her and the flutters she felt within that she used to think that she no longer had the capability to feel. The moment was as much for her as it was for him, and feeling that connected to another person for the first time in a very long time left her utterly lost, in the very best way.

His hand in her hair gently guided her down for a kiss, and for a moment, everything was quiet. Everything was still. Everything was _okay_. And it turned out that he really had been right after all, for one very clear and undeniable reason.

Because it meant something. _He_ meant something. And maybe, if they could somehow turn the odds in their favor one day... _all_ of this would continue to mean something, and everything would stay okay for once in both of their lives.


End file.
